Unexpected
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: On the way to the bus, the team has an unexpected encounter with Hiruma's father. Hiruma Youichi and Hiruma Yuuya. T for language and gunfire.


Unexpected

**Summary:**At the end of the Christmas Bowl, Hiruma Youichi meets the one person he didn't expect. Hiruma Yuuya. But what do an estranged father and son say to each other? Probably not what anyone expects. Eyeshield 21. T for language.

The celebrating and congratulations went on for hours. The game had ended in mid-afternoon, but evening was already long faded into night by the time the team got the last of their things from the lockers and got ready to leave. They hadn't even been able to leave the field for the first hour and more. Not that it mattered, not with the adrenalin of that final battle still running high, and the euphoria of victory pounding in their blood. Monta had been bouncing like a ball. They'd all taken turns getting thrown in the air, except for Kurita, who was too bloody big, and Hiruma, who would shoot anyone who tried to lay a hand on him for any such thing. Kurita got back slaps. Hiruma got a blind eye turned to the fact that he was shooting off enough ammunition to finish a war.

Now they were tired. The euphoria was still there, but the adrenalin had worn down, and the aches were making themselves known. Time to go home and enjoy the comforts they'd earned. Including, in most cases, a nice large bed.

There was a single man waiting by the exit of the stadium as they left. Standing in the shadows. Suzuna and Taki saw him first. Taki grinned. "A fan! Waiting for my autograph. Ahaha!"

Then Hiruma came out of the doors, gun on his shoulder, still wearing his jersey, and the man stepped forward. "Yoichi."

Hiruma stopped. Everyone froze, looking between the two of them. After all, there was no one that any of them knew, who would actually dare to call Hiruma by his given name. Suzuna got away with calling him You-nii, but only because he recognized it as a sign of fondness and some respect, and because she treated everyone like that.

The man stepped out of the shadows. Black hair, and darker eyes, but the rest of him...all eyes tracked between him and Hiruma. It was easy to see the man's features in the narrow face, the lean build. And the pointed upturned ears, to make it obvious where the younger had gotten his own distinctive look. And despite the business suit and relatively mild expression, there was just something in the air about him, something that felt like the quarterback's air of wild, crazy confidence, that too-bright perception that bordered on madness sometimes.

Hiruma stared at him, then shifted his stance, the good humor vanishing from his expression as something unfathomable flitted into his eyes. He wasn't even wearing his manic, threatening grin. "Che. Old man. Thought you were out of the fucking country."

"I came back." Silence between them for a long moment, while the rest of the team held internal dialogue debating what to do. Half of them were simply stunned to be seeing the devil's father, and by the fact that he looked like the average Japanese businessman. Suzuna was wondering if they needed pictures to document what had to be a historic occasion. Mamori was connecting Hiruma's tone of voice and his words to a phone call received almost two months ago. Then the man spoke again. "You made it."

Hiruma snorted. "Told you I damn well would."

There was a slow nod on the other's part. "But I heard...the last game...you broke an arm, three weeks ago." He shook his head slowly, his gaze resting for a moment on his son's right arm. "I heard...saw the coverage...they broke your throwing arm. But you kept playing. I thought then...you might not be able. But when I heard that you were playing...I came back."

Hiruma snorted again, and the look in his eyes was contempt, and something else, anger and a boiling pot of emotions no one had ever seen in him, and no one wanted to see. Most of them were contemplating running for the team bus before he started shooting. But the gun never left it's position on his shoulder. "Fucking great of you. If you were so damned concerned, should have come a lot fucking sooner."

"I didn't think you'd want me to. If that arm had stopped you..."

"Hah...if you thought something that damn simple would stop me..." Yoichi Hiruma snorted again. "You don't know a damn fucking thing about me, old man." He turned and began to walk away, towards the bus.

"You're right. But Yoichi...I am proud of you." Hiruma stopped walking. "You did so well. I never thought...you made the impossible happen. You said you would, but I hadn't thought, against those odds..."

"Che. The odds were never zero percent, old man." He still hadn't turned around.

"I know." The older man smiled. "But..it was still unexpected. Until I realized...you found what I didn't, all those years ago. I'm glad you did."

At that, Yoichi Hiruma did move. He spun around, fiery anger blazing in his eyes, so bright even Mamori ducked backward. "Found? You think I _found_ what let us win today, you fucking old man. Don't you damn well demean what happened here as something we _found._"

His eyes were blazing, and it was amazing to all of them that he hadn't pulled the gun off his shoulder yet. Most of them were expecting a rain of bullets, possibly live ones, any second now. But Hiruma wasn't using the gun. In fact, he'd let it drop. His words, however, were hot enough to blister the paint off of Tokyo Dome.

"I didn't _find_ anything. What we had today...we fucking bloody built it, in blood and sweat and more work than you can even contemplate. We worked our damn fingers to the fucking bone, and then some. That..." He pointed the end of the machine gun toward the Dome. "That was the result of back-breaking labor, of everybody working their asses off for months. I went on a Death March for this, old man. And so did they." His right hand clenched, almost a convulsive movement, as if he was longing to pull the trigger of his gun. "I broke my bones for this. We were willing to die for this. Don't demean it with a fucking simple word like '_found'_."

"You had faith in them." Simple words. Not such a simple meaning, when applied to Hiruma. They all knew that.

"It would have been a damn fucking waste if I hadn't been able to trust them to to their jobs. We didn't come all this fucking way to lose, old man. Not even against impossible odds." There was a simmering fire in the green eyes, backed by an odd sort of pride they'd only rarely seen Yoichi Hiruma display, and usually when he was telling the opposing team exactly how his team, and his players, were going to crush them.

"I know. You never would do such a thing. I was just surprised by it. Watching you with them." The older Hiruma shook his head.

"What the hell did you expect? They're my team." Yoichi's eyes turned cold. "Not that I expect you to understand."

The older man shook his head again. "I know. We haven't had a relationship for a long time, have we, Yoichi. But still, as your father...I am very proud of you." he reached out a hand, almost looked as if he was going to take a step forward to try and touch his son.

The younger Hiruma jerked away, even though they weren't within touching distance. "Che. If you understand that, then save your damn breath. I didn't do this for you. This is mine."

The older man dropped his hand, nodded once. Then without a word, he turned and began to walk away, across the darkened lot.

Mamori was the first to move. She stepped forward. "Hiruma-kun?"

He didn't turn. "What, damn manager?"

She moved closer, so that her voice wouldn't carry to the rest of the team. "That man...he's your father?"

"Che. Don't treat it like we've got any kind of relationship. That bastard stopped being my father a fucking long time ago." But he was still staring after the figure vanishing into the darkness.

"He was the one on the phone, at that match where we saw Shin-san's Trident Tackle the first time, wasn't he?"

He snorted. "Fucking nosy manager."

She shook her head. "I just...I saw your face, and when you hung up...you never throw away your phones. But you did that day. And you weren't acting like yourself at all." She paused. "It still matters, doesn't it?"

There was a long pause. "He called to tell me he was leaving the fucking country, wouldn't see us play. Running away, without even ever acknowledging what we were doing. He knew it was this year too. He called to wish me luck, and tell me he wouldn't show, fucking bastard." His jaw clenched.

Mamori nodded. "But he came back. He did watch you play."

"So?" Hiruma's body was tense, but somehow, for some reason, his gaze still hadn't turned away from where the figure of his father had vanished into the darkness.

"So it mattered to him after all. And it matters to you." She even dared to put a hand on his arm. It was something only she could get away with, after months of tending his wounds when no one else was looking, but it was the first time she'd done it in front of his team, at least in such a gentle fashion.

"Like hell. Why would I care?" He met her eyes. "Huh? Give me one good fucking reason why I would care anymore, what he thinks."

She held his gaze. "Because you hate to lose, and it's not really a victory for you, unless you make him see exactly how well you've done, is it?" She smiled at him. "You want him to see the victory you've achieved, on and off the field, don't you? You want to win. To make him acknowledge everything you've done. Not just football, but everything you are, that led to this." She gestured to the Dome. "Everything this team is." A challenging smirk rose across her face, daring him to contradict her. "Isn't that right?"

He snorted again. "Fucking manager. When the hell did you become a damn motivational expert?" he snorted again, then dropped his pack and pulled his gun into a firing position. "Yo. Fucking shrimp."

Sena jumped. "Yes?"

"Go after the old geezer who just left. Tell him to get his ass back here. And..." he held up a clip of ammo. "Better fucking get back here before I run out, or all bets are off." he smirked. "Get moving, you damn shrimp!" He fired a warning shot.

"Yes!" Sena jumped and shot off into the darkness like a bullet.

"Fine then." Hiruma grinned, then settled into stance and pulled the gun upward. "Come on, you fucking bastard. You wanna talk, then walk through a rain of bullets!" He pulled the trigger, blasting into the sky. "Come on, old man, if you're suddenly so fucking interested."

"Hiruma-kun!" Mamori ducked as a wild spray of ammunition shot skyward.

The gun clicked a few moments later on the empty magazine. Hiruma snorted. "Che. Don't see him."

"I'm right here, Yoichi." The older man strode out of the fading smoke of gunfire and evaporated snow. Sena was beside him.

For a long moment, the two regarded each other. Then Yoichi Hiruma snorted, and put the gun back on his shoulder. "If you could afford to come back early and pay money for the damn tickets, then business must be pretty damn good for you."

There was a slight nod. "It's doing well. I'll fly back soon to tie things up. In a few days."

Hiruma snorted. "Like I care." he looked away. "We're all fucking tired. We've been busting ass for three weeks, training for this. This is only the second damn day I've been out of the fucking oxygen capsule they put me in for my arm." He didn't give his father a chance to speak. "We're going home, to get some fucking rest. But tomorrow is the awarding of the player trophies and shit, and then we're gonna celebrate in style. Us and our trainers." he smirked. "Understand, old man?"

"Of course. When and where?"

"I'll let you know when I damn well decide." Yoichi Hiruma turned, grabbed his bag, and walked toward the bus, his gun slung once more into it's 'at rest' position on his shoulder.

"Of course. I'll be waiting to hear from you, Yoichi." This time, no one made any move to stop either Hiruma as they went their separate ways. Even Taki looked a little subdued.

The team was quiet as they boarded. All of them were curious, wondering what the hell had just happened. None of them wanted to confront the team captain with questions. There were neater forms of suicide, after all. Finally, Suzuna spoke up. "Ah...You-nii..."

"Don't call me that, roller-blade brat." His eyes were closed, gun beside him and his hands supporting his head.

Suzuna ignored him. She always had. "What just happened? I mean...that last part."

Hiruma's eyes didn't open, but his trademark evil grin spread across his face. "He wants to be my 'proud father' so fucking bad, he can pick up the tab for tomorrow."

"Oh. Okay." Suzuna settled back next to Taki.

Musashi, sitting beside him, waited until the rest of the team was dozing or distracted, then spoke softly. "Oi. Hiruma..." he waited until the other youth turned to look at him. "You really going to be all right with this? Is it really enough, for you?"

"Winning the Christmas Bowl? For now, in high school. After that..." he shrugged, a smirk stealing across his features. "There's the college Rice Bowl, and the world of pros. Of course I'm aiming to dominate them too."

"I meant your dad."

The smile disappeared, the eyes turning thoughtful in a way they rarely did when he wasn't concentrating on football strategies. "We'll see. Maybe. Maybe not. This shit wasn't for him, it was for me. If I decide to accept his words ever again, that'll also be for me. If I decide he's not worth it...then he can damn well shut up and die." The eyes closed. Within seconds, Hiruma's breathing settled out into the pattern of sleep, exhaustion finally catching up to the fearsome captain.

Mamori and Musashi shared a look. Mamori looked back at Hiruma's sleeping form. "Do you think it will really be all right? Hiruma-kun and Hiruma-san?"

Musashi shrugged. "Probably. I didn't think he'd even talk to him, much less go this far." He shook his head. "He's always been angry at his father. That he even acknowledged him...it was unexpected. But good. Even if it's just his anger and sticking him with the bill..." which was sure to be horrendous, knowing Yoichi Hiruma. "Then it's a start. And...his father did say he was proud of him. That might be enough."

Manager and team kicker regarded the sleeping form by the window for a moment, then shared a satisfied grin. Mamori passed Musashi a blanket, to drape over the quarterback's form, and the two of them left the silent figure to his dreams.

_**Author's** **Note: **Don't know why, but I really wanted to do a father-son thing between these two, and this just sort of wrote itself. Hope you enjoyed it._


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